Brain Damage
by IndefiniteHeaven
Summary: Dean has no idea what the hell is going on. He's woken up in a mental hospital, the past year a blank. And Sam is missing. Thanks to this, much to his dismay, Dean has to team up with a damaged angel and a tortured demon to locate his brother. AU of S9. Featuring a different Pink Floyd song for each chapter! Title taken from one of the band's songs.


**Brain Damage**

_"The lunatic is on the grass, the lunatic is on the grass. Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs. Got to keep the loonies on the path._  
><em>The lunatic is in the hall, the lunatics are in my hall. The paper holds their folded faces to the floor and every day the paperboy brings more.<em>  
><em>And if the dam breaks open many years too soon, and if there is no room upon the hill, and if your head explodes with dark forebodings too.<em>  
><em>I'll see you on the dark side of the moon.<em>  
><em>The lunatic is in my head, the lunatic is in my head. You raise the blade, you make the change. You re-arrange me 'till I'm sane. You lock the door and throw away the key.<em>  
><em>There's someone in my head, but it's not me. And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear. You shout and no one seems to hear and if the band you're in starts playing different tunes.<em>  
><em>I'll see you on the dark side of the moon.<em>  
><em>'I can't think of anything to say except...<em>  
><em>I think it's marvelous!' "<em>

_"Brain Damage"_ by Pink Floyd

The rolling, grassy hills in the field were laid upon by a 10-year-old Dean. He had his hands behind his head, legs crossed. The grass was spiky and itchy feeling, but smooth when rubbed upon. A few autumn leaves were scattered here and there.

_"The lunatic is on the grass..."_

The grass was a shade darker then his own eyes that stared up at the cloudy sky. The cotton candy puffs of dark grey slowly rolled across his vision. Thunder rumbled throughout air. Occasionally a rain drop fell upon him.

_"The lunatic is on the grass..."_

He sighed out in relaxation. He was content here. "Deannnnnnn, I made you oneeeee!" A voice cried out. A daisy chain was plopped upon his head.

_"Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs."_

Dean glanced upwards, and 6-year-old Sam was there, sitting upside down in Dean's vision. Sam was wearing black slacks and matching socks. A baggy sweater was adjourned, tucked into his slacks. Wild, shaggy hair sat upon his head. Dean giggled at his brother.

_"Got to keep the loonies on the path."_

"Sammy, you look weird." Dean barked out with laughter. Sam grinned at him, dimples showing. "So do you." Sam replied.

Dean looked at down at he was wearing. A forest green sweater vest over a crisp, white button-up, with dark gray jeans. Dean wasn't used to wearing it, but it felt comfy and he thought he should honestly wear stuff like this more often.

Sammy rolled across the grass and laid next to the other Winchester. "Told you." Sam laughed at him. Sam was wearing a flower crown with blood red roses.

BLOOD.

Dean frowned. That didn't feel right. BLOOD was with PAIN. And PAIN was BAD. It meant that- "Hey, uh, Sam, do you thin-" Dean began, but Sam dropped the daisy chain on his head.

"See! You look pretty now!" Dean smiled, forgetting his worries, as his little brother cheered. He would never disappoint his precious brother, even if it turned into a chick flick moment. Even if Dean would be hurt. Even if Dean would to have his skin, ever-so painfully- but Sam was gone, vanished along with the green hills. And, replaces by it was a hall.

_"The lunatic is in the hall, the lunatics are in my hall."_

He paused, gazing about. There were numbered doors on either side and a wheel chair to his right. The walls were a peeling and mint colored. The white tilted floor appeared to have permanent scuff marks.

Dean was greatly confused. He realized he wasn't 10, but in fact 31. He also realized he was wearing something new. A white v-neck and baggy, mint sweatpants. He was wore a pair a thin grey slippers. Dean cautiously turned around, taking in his surroundings. As he did this, a male doctor came around the corner and straight to the hunter. He flashed Dean a smile.

"Hello, John, how are you this fine evening?" He cheerfully asked. He stopped before Dean, awaiting a reply from the man.

John? What the hell? "Uhhhh, confused beyond all reason?"

The doctor's face melted into concern when hearing the tone. "John? Are you feeling alright at the moment?" He carefully questioned.

"Uhhhh, no? Is there a reason you're calling me John and uh acting like a psychologist?"

The doctor blinked with a surprised look. Dean's eyes flashed to his metal name tag, attached to his left breast pocket of his coat. The title 'Doctor Roger Green' was on it, shining expectantly at Dean.

"Well, ah yes. We, and neither do you, know what your real name is. Do you recall this, John?" Doctor Green carefully informed him.

Dean just stared at him. "Uhhhh...no... I don't know whats going on." Dean replied. He wasn't sure why he seemed so helpless. Usually, this would bother Dean, but he currently felt dazed and confused. He felt his confusion growing by the taken back expression on Doctor Green's expression.

"About a year ago you were discovered by a young couple taking a walk through Jefferson Park. They toke you to Jefferson Memorial Hospital, where you were tended to. The doctors there tried to get your name, but you had a severe panic attack. They sedated you, but each time you woke up, you were hysterical. After about of week of this you became delusional and violent. You were sent hereafter a particularly violent episode...Does any of this make you recall this past year?" Doctor Green told him. Dean stared at him, uncomprehending and still numb.

Finally, Dean spoke in a very small voice. "...A year?"

Doctor Green nodded and gave him a concerned look. "John? Would you like to sit? You are looking quite pale."

"...uh, n-no I...I..." Dean stuttered. Doctor Green gently placed a large hand upon Dean's shoulder. He carefully guided the haunted looking man down the hall and sat him in a plastic chair. The hunter stared at the ground, deep in thought.

"...W-where is this place?"

"Well, this is the Oak Acres Mental Hospital. I've been your Doctor for the past year now...John, have you really forgotten everything this past year?"

Dean looks up at the Doctor, looking for signs of this being all a lie. A thought suddenly struck through Dean's haze. Maybe he was a demon, and this was sometime of ploy to kill him. "Christo." Dean muttered cautiously and Doctor Green frowned.

"John, I can assure you that I'm not a demon."

Dean stood up so quickly that the chair toppled over onto it's side. "HOW THE HELL DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT?!" Dean exploded, haze completely gone, replaced with the heat of anger. Doctor Green backed up and place his hands in a placating gesture.

"John, if you don't calm down I'll have to sedate you. I can explain if you remain calm and sit down." Doctor Green calmly commanded Dean. It was the same calm his Dad used to use. Dean, for whatever reason, listened and sat back down, haze taking place once more.

Doctor Green studied his papers for a moment. Dean's numb mind wandered, wondering why everything felt like fog. The doctor flipped through and then made eye contact with the blond before him.

_"The paper holds their folded faces to the floor and everyday the paperboy brings more."_

"The moments when you were lucid, you've told me this whole world centered around your brother and you traveling around and fighting monsters. You've told me about demons and a couple other monsters, but that was all." Doctor Green explained. Dean stared at him. He told this stranger that? He couldn't even remember.

"John. How are you doing right now?"

"My name is Dean..." Dean whispered, feeling stunned.

Doctor Green gave him a surprised look. "You remember your real name?"

"OF COURSE! AND YOU'RE A DAMN LIAR! WHO ARE YOU REALLY AND WHERES MY BROTHER?!" Dean abruptly exploded.

"I am Doctor Roger Green and I've been your psychologist for a year now. I'm not lying to you. I'm not even completely sure you have a brother. You made up that world. We've talked about this before, J-Dean. You even have began to accept it."

Dean made up Sammy? His giant little brother. Who eats salads and makes bitch-faces? The little boy who looked up to him and gave him those dorky smiles? The Sammy he would die for? No way. Never.

"I...theres no way. Sammy is real. He is real. And I'm Dean Winchester. Dean John Winchester. John. John Winchester is my father." Dean told him, numbness taking hold, again. He feels like he is yo-yoing back and forth between calm and angry. Doctor Greens wrote down what Dean was saying.

"I'll look into it, Dean, but in the meantime you should head back to your room."

"My room?...Ummm, I think I'm A-OK with saying here, Doc."

Doctor Green made a disappointed looking face. "Dean, call me Roger. You've been calling me that for months now and I prefer you stick to it."

Dean studied him. He was average height and in, possibly, his 40s. He had a bit of gray mixed into his chestnut hair. He didn't have any wrinkles, but crinkles around his light blue eyes and the corners of his mouth, like he smiled more than most people. Dean hadn't seen a smile yet, though. Looks could be deceiving though. But, in Dean's heart, for whatever reason, this man was special to Dean. Not like love or a friend, but as a family member.

"...Alright, Rog."

Dean finally saw a smile, that made Roger look slightly younger. Dean grinned back at him, and realized this man reminded him of his own brother.

Sammy.

_"And if the dam breaks open many years too soon, and if there is no room upon the hill, and if your head explodes with dark forebodings too."_

Dean gasped loudly, in pain. It felt like that time he got electrocuted, but worse. He saw bright lights and he pushed the palms of his hands against his eyes, hoping to reduce the pain. It wasn't working. He realized a grievous moan.

"John! John, whats wrong?!" Roger frantically asked. Dean felted the large hand touch his shoulder. Dean moaned loader and Roger began rubbing it. There were still lights flashing by his squeezed shut lids.

Dean glanced up. The last thing he saw was the terrified face of Roger. Then, a never ending dark abyss over toke his pain senses. Dean glided into it. And one single thought echoed through him.

_"I'll see you on the dark side of the moon."_

*  
>Dean stared at the moldy, light brown ring was in the corner of the ceiling. His head was spinning, making him feel sick. His mind still felt somewhat numb though. Dean moved, trying to get more comfortable, realizing a slight groan as his headache pierced the veil of fog.<p>

"Are you sure you don't know why you fainted?" Roger asked for the billionth time. Yep, definitely like Sam, always worrying. And harassing Dean when he didn't want to be.

Dean shrugged and stared a piece of lint on his pillow, attempting ignore his throbbing head. Roger frowned, again. Dean hated that; he looked too old when making that face. That was the same look his Dad made when Dean was sick or injured.

"...So, I looked up those names." Roger finally decided to inform him. Roger bit his lip and watched the blond's back, scanning for any type of reaction. When not receiving one, he continued.

"And it says-" Roger began, but Dean finished his sentence. "-That all three of us are dead."

"...Dean, how did you know that?"

_"The lunatic is in my head, the lunatic is in my head."_

Dean stared at the dulled cuts on his left wrist. Apparently, Dean tried to kill himself, when he began hysterical about something related to Sam. Roger said no one understood what he was talking about. He didn't remember any of this. He didn't even believe it. All of these thoughts pained his head more.

"...Because, the cops have thought I've died twice now."

_"You raise the blade, you make the change. You re-arrange me,'till I'm sane."_

Roger wrote something down with his pink pen. Hot Pink. Pink? Why the hell is a man using pink? Do you know what? Dean didn't even want to know. Dean realized a deep sigh at this. He was wondering about the dumbest things. But, was it dumb to believe that the whole other life he thought he had to be a lie? For his little brother and the fallen angel to be fiction? Dean couldn't even phantom that it was all a lie.

Dean knew it was real though.

_"You lock the door and throw away the key."_

This was what Dean didn't understand though. This 'John' Roger had known for the past year was not him. 'John' was now a memory. But, why did the blond have the sinking suspicion that he might still be there, in a deep corner of his mind?

_"There's someone in my head, but it's not me."_

{_...always here..._} Dean thought he heard another far off memory. Or maybe it wasn't a memory? Maybe it was a voice. Maybe John was still there. A shiver went down his spine.

"Hey, Rog. How was...how was I before? Uh, before today? How did I like act?"

Roger thought, tapping his pen against his chin. The stubble was prominent to Dean. "John-you-are-was pretty original, If I do say so myself. You liked puzzles. Questions or mind games that made you think really hard. You were excellent at them as well. Beat me in chess and checkers, all the time. You enjoyed classical music and philosophy. You were not only clever, but humorous. You made not only the patients, employees laugh with your jokes. You were sometimes quiet and shy around those who were new to you. You liked to talk to me. Our conversations were fascinating. You used a...somewhat high class wording. Very sharing and complimented everyone here."

That...sounded nothing like Dean. He suddenly hoped John was gone, because Dean would never want to be like that. The numbness was slowly evaporating from his dulled mind. He was changing, evolving into someone new. And he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

_"And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear. You shout and no one seems to hear and if the band you're in starts playing different tunes."_

He knew though, knew that, he is John.

_"I'll see you on the dark side of the moon."_

"Well, I can't think of anything to say, expect..." Dean began, trying to think what to say. He flashed Roger an incredibly fake smile. Dean wasn't sure if the doctor realized it was or not.

"_...I think it's marvelous sounding_."

Roger's documents on John Doe, AKA Dean John Winchester, had a pair of words typed on, circled in hot pink ink. Words that had been repeatedly used in this hospital for the past year. And those words were...

"**Brain Damage**."

Chapter 1 End


End file.
